Under the cold light of the moon, two knights met upon the docks, one clad in radiant steel, the other draped in shadowed grace.
Their gazes crossed, and words were unnecessary; honor alone demanded the clash. Saber drew her invisible blade, its pressure rippling through the night, while Lancer spun his twin spears, one crimson, one gold, each a curse against miracles.
Steel and mystery danced. Sparks leapt from every meeting of weapon and will. Saber pressed forward like a storm made flesh, each strike guided by resolve; Lancer moved with liquid precision, his lances weaving death in elegant arcs.
When crimson steel grazed her hand, the wound refused to close, the curse burned quietly, unseen yet absolute. Still, Saber pressed through the pain. Theirs was not a battle of hatred, but of pride, a test to see whose legend would outshine the other beneath the Grail's gaze.
"Now that we know each other's names," Lancer said, "we can duel honorably as knights. Or does it displease you that this came only after you lost the use of an arm?"
"You jest," Saber replied, a faint smirk touching her lips. "It's humiliating that you would show me concern over such a scratch."
"Prepare yourself, Saber. Next time, you are mine."
"Only if I fail to strike first, Lancer."
The air tensed again, until lightning split the sky. A blinding flash struck the docks, and with a thunderous crash, a chariot descended from the night sky.
The man upon it raised his hand.
"Both of you sheathe your blades! You stand before a king. I am Iskandar, King of Conquerors! In this Grail War, I am of the Rider class!"
Saber and Lancer both turned to him, caught between disbelief and irritation.
"W–what are you thinking, you idiot?!" cried the young man beside him.Rider flicked the boy's forehead lightly, sending him sprawling across the chariot floor with a whimper.
"Fate has brought us here to fight for the Grail," Rider continued, "but first, I would make a proposition. What think you of yielding the Grail to me and joining my army? You shall be treated as honored allies, and together we will share in the joy of conquering the world!"
Lancer sighed.
"I'm afraid I must decline. I may not give the Grail to any man but my lord, not to you, Rider."
"Did you interrupt our battle only to offer such nonsense?" Saber said her tone cutting. "If so, it's a grave insult."
"I am willing to discuss compensation," Rider offered with a grin.
"Shut up!" Saber and Lancer snapped in unison.
"Furthermore," Saber continued, "I am the King of Britain. I will not lower myself to serve another king as a mere retainer."
Rider blinked, and then laughed.
"King of Britain, you say? I would hardly have expected the King of Knights to be a little girl."
"Then perhaps you'd like to taste this girl's blade, King of Conquerors," Saber said coldly.
"Well," Rider sighed, "negotiations failed."
"Rider! What are you doing?! What is wrong with you?!" the boy, Waver, shouted, panic rising in his voice.
From the shadows, another voice cut through.
"So it was you, I see now who stole my relic. Planning to enter the Grail War yourself, Waver Velvet? How would you like me to offer a private lesson, on how magi kill each other, and the pain that follows?"
Waver's face turned pale at the sound of Kayneth's voice.
"Magus, so you were to be my Master?" Rider scoffed. "Absurd. Only one brave enough to ride my chariot and fight by my side is worthy. Not some coward hiding in the dark!"
Then, turning to the docks, he boomed,
"And the others, those who skulk in the shadows! Saber, Lancer, your duel was magnificent, surely enough to draw other heroes! Show yourselves, lest you earn the scorn of the King of Conquerors!"
................
Waver's pov
As Rider's voice thundered, the air itself seemed to tremble, then shimmer.From the rippling distortion stepped another Servant.
The pressure of his presence was suffocating.Waver's chest tightened as gold light filled the docks.
It was the one who had slain Assassin, Archer.
"So, two lesser beings dare call themselves kings before me," he said, voice dripping with disdain.
"I fail to see the problem," Rider replied easily, grin wide. "I am Iskandar, King of Conquerors."
Of course, this idiot would say that, Waver thought helplessly.
"Nonsense," Archer scoffed. "I am the one true king, all others are pretenders."
Waver swallowed hard. That arrogance, it was painfully familiar. The same self-importance as the noble-born magi at the Clock Tower, those who thought themselves above the world.
"If you're so certain," Rider said, unbothered, "then name yourself. Surely a king would not hesitate to give his name."
"You question me, pretender? If you cannot feel my glory through my presence, your blindness will be your doom."
Behind Archer, golden portals shimmered like ripples on liquid sunlight. One by one, weapons emerged, ancient, gleaming, terrible.
"So that's how he killed Assassin…" Rider muttered.
Panic set in.This isn't the time to analyze, Rider! Waver thought. Archer's about to shoot us!
Before he could cry out, another voice broke through the tension, calm, amused.
"Well… how about I take a guess, Archer?"
Eh? The voice came from directly behind him.
Rider froze mid-laugh, eyes widening.
"How long have you been sitting there?"
Waver's blood turned to ice. Slowly, very slowly, he turned.
For a heartbeat, the world forgot to breathe.
The figure sat as though he had always been there between one blink and the next, simply present. His armor was black and worn, its edges dulled by time. A pale, tattered cape draped his shoulders, its frayed ends stirring faintly in a wind that wasn't there. The air around him rippled, bending space to make room for his existence.
Upon his head rested a cracked crown of pale metal, faintly aglow with an impossible, mournful majesty.
Half his porcelain mask was white and smooth, painted with a serene, mocking smile
The other was marred and darkened, its frown etched deep, fissures running down like tears.
When he turned, the light shifted across both faces, and laughter bled into sorrow.
"The entire time, I suppose," he said softly. "Apologies for the intrusion. Couldn't find a better place to watch from. Your chariot looked… quite inviting."
His tone was polite, even friendly, but every syllable rippled wrong, as though his voice came from somewhere slightly detached from the world itself.
Rider blinked.
"You were sitting here the entire time?!"
"Indeed," the masked knight replied in a light, almost teasing tone. "A fine duel. I would've announced myself, but… interruptions are so inelegant."
The Fool's side gleamed faintly, the smile almost widening.
Archer's gaze sharpened, recognition, irritation, and faint curiosity flickering through his crimson eyes.
"And what are you supposed to be? Another jester masquerading as a king?"
The knight tilted his head, the Fool's grin glinting faintly in the moonlight.
"Oh, come on now. Some jesters see more than kings blinded by their own pride, wouldn't you agree… golden sparkles?"
Waver swore the smiling half of the mask moved, subtly, impossibly, into something resembling amusement.
"Watch your tongue, mongrel," Archer said coldly. "You stand before the first and only king."
The smiling half's eyes seemed to become like slits as if it was thinking
"The first and only king?" the knight mused softly. "No, no…don't sell yourself short like that…"
He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to a chilling whisper:
"You're not the first king; you're a relic of love misplaced."
Golden light shimmered behind Archer, blades humming in silent fury.
The masked knight went on, tone as calm as it was cruel. The masks smile turned into a wide grin
"The first Narcissus, the pond still trembles from your reflection, King. How many millennia has it been since you first fell in love with your own face?"